Page 33 of #Bossholes

Chris is back with a fresh coffee, in an untarnished cup, which he hands to her with a grimace.Sorry, to foil your plans. This is one woman you will not be disappointing.

What’s wrong with me? I shouldn’t care either way. But damn, I don’t like the idea of this asshole’s hands on her. I can tell you I won’t be back to this establishment. It’s unprofessional. Like me at the moment.

With her drink in hand, I usher her to a table in the back corner, my hand hovering inches away from her lower back. Why? Because apparently I no longer control my own appendages. I couldn’t be more annoyed with myself. Maybe I should have left her at the office for Wyatt and Maverick to fawn over. I thought I was stronger than this; I should be stronger than this.

“After you,” I murmur, gesturing for her to sit closest to the wall.

Her eyes widen slightly, clutching her purse as her gaze volleys between the two chairs. “Are you sure you don’t want to take the inside chair?”

“Yes. Is there a problem, Miss Rhodes?”

She shakes her head, glancing away from me for a moment. “I think you can call me Kinsley now.”

“Very well.” I swallow past the lump growing in my throat and loosen my tie a fraction. “After you, Kinsley.”

Her eyes flare as her name tumbles from my lips, and I take another drink of the hot coffee, anything to keep my mind from wandering to places it has no business going.

Luckily, she listens, unpacking her phone and a notepad before she sits. I take the spot next to her, wishing I had the foresight to grab my briefcase. I don’t need it, she’s going to be taking notes, but it would be nice to have something to occupy my time, to keep my thoughts from wandering to the woman beside me.

Too late for that.

As she glances at her phone, I can’t help but wonder if she’s gone through with it, if she’s listing herself for sale on that website. I haven’t checked, and I’m not going to. But if she has, what is she hoping for? Companionship? Money? Or is it simply getting rid of her innocence in a way that pads her bank account?

I can’t fault her for any of those things. It’s her life and her decision to make, even if I?—

“Brantley Ellis, I presume?” August Gray takes a seat across from me, extending a hand for me to shake.

He’s drinking an iced coffee, something with more whipped cream than anything else. He’s wearing ripped jeans, a simple T-shirt, and a Nashville Aces football hat which he tugs low on his face. If he wanted anonymity, he shouldn’t have picked such apublic place. I work hard to make sure my face is kept out of the news, but August is plastered all over it, has been for years.

“In the flesh.” I give him a tight smile, gesturing toKinsley. “This is my assistant. She’s here to take notes, but rest assured, everything you say here today will be confidential whether you choose to go with our firm or not.”

August gives her what I’m sure is a dazzling smile, but I fail to see the appeal. Just like I failed to see any of his movies. “August Gray.”

“Kinsley Rhodes.” She takes his extended hand but instead of giving it a customary shake, he brings her hand to his lips, brushing them across her knuckles. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Gray.”

She giggles—fucking giggles at him—and I’m not sure if it’s the sultry way she whispered Mr. Gray or the way his mouth brushed across the back of her hand. All I know is that I hate it. And I hate that I hate it.

“The pleasure is all mine.” Another one of those smiles. “Please, call me August.”

I can see why he’s getting divorced.

Kinsley blushes, her cheeks turning more crimson than before, and I force myself to take a deep breath. My blood is simmering, searing through me like this hot ass coffee, and my stomach drops. I don’t know what this is, but I sure as hell don’t like it. It must be the caffeine.

I want to punch something, preferablyMr. Grayand his whole charming act, but there’s no way I’m going to do that to a prospective client. Jesus.

First the barista, and now this.

I really should have left her at the office. I have so many regrets.

“So, Mr. Gray, how can I help?” I clear my throat, folding my hands on the table in front of me. “You said you were looking to get a divorce?”

His Hollywood confidence shatters as his gaze shifts from Kinsley to me. “That’s unfortunately correct. Turns out marrying an actress with a known drug problem didn’t shape up to be the happy marriage we portrayed it to be in interviews.”

“Is the divorce amiable?”

“No. She wants to work it out, but between the cocaine she refuses to stop using and her boyfriend, I can’t.”

I almost feel bad for him. Almost. He did choose to marry someone he knew had a drug problem. Hell, he chose to marry someone period. Although, I guess if he and the other fifty percent of the US didn’t get married, I wouldn’t have a job when it inevitably ended in divorce.

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